This is not your typical coming of age boy-meets-World story. I’ve been flung into this cold dark world of celebrity, lights, Champaign and glitz a long time ago. This story is the reduction of a culmination of experiences made into one concentrated taff called 22. Like in a 4 part harmony my life has been broken into thirds and made into one harmonic coming together called my life story. I’m not super into celebrating myself in such a public way as a birthday party but reaching yet another year of life comes with its sentiments. So sentimental it warranted a white black label blazer, Vulgar polo shirt (Unreleased), custom plum pants and of course my favorite sport piece by Stella McCartney. Location, Regency bar; unequivocally Kingston’s most idyllic setting for Hollywood nights for the 876 upper echelons.

Out comes the party platters, 10 inch bear flutes and glasses of white wine, cupcake nonetheless. “Keep the glasses of whisky sour coming mate” was mostly what I said all night. Throw in some karaoke by the Tuesday night band and the night was near complete. Big up the impromptu party guest by way of dear Paul from Canada. Paul is an absolute stranger that we invited over and had a good half hour of chuckles with. What’s a birthday story without a random stranger anyway? I was very happy with my crowd and they were happy with the shots and glasses that kept coming all night. On that note, here’s to 22 more years of being awesome!